Feeling
by Spaghetti-Spider
Summary: "After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B, and then…" After the first case since Sherlock's return goes into the wrong direction, Sherlock starts to feel things he doesn't know how to explain.


__A/N: Well, this is my first published work! I'm quite terrified, but it had to happen sooner or later. This is for the Let's Write Sherlock! Challenge 1 on Tumblr. A major thank you to my friend and Beta Moire (NardBagel on Tumblr) for looking over and editing this fic that almost gave me a panic attack.

_Feeling_

The cab ride was silent. There sat John and Sherlock in the back of the cab, Sherlock was looking out the window while John spared quick glances at him trying to assess the damage that he had sustained, neither of them saying a word. John tried to speak to Sherlock a few times, but every attempt lead to him opening his mouth, saying nothing, closing his mouth, and sighing.

0-0-0-0-0-0

It had taken a little over three years for Sherlock to destroy Moriarty's web. He had finished the job three months ago. John returned one day from work to notice that Mrs. Hudson had left to go shopping. Upon entering the sitting room, John noticed a gaunt figure in the flat. Sherlock was alive, sitting in his chair, waiting for John to come home.

John stood there frozen with the shock of seeing his best friend alive once more. Sherlock stood to say hello, John, weak in the knees and losing consciousness, fell to the floor. When John came to, he was on the sofa, Sherlock sitting in his chair once more.

"I made tea," Sherlock stated, pointing to the mug on the table in front of John, "but it has probably become cold by now." Ignoring Sherlock's comment John sat up and began to survey how much Sherlock had changed. He was thinner due to lack of nourishment, had new scars on his neck and cheek, and he looked more tired than he used to.

"How?" Was all John could muster. Sherlock gave a small smile and began giving his explanation of how he survived his fall. The more Sherlock spoke, the more furious John became. Once Sherlock was done with his explanation, John sat in silence, contemplating on what to do next. Finally, he spoke, almost whispering, "Why would you leave me like that and let me believe you were dead?"

"I had to," Sherlock answered, "Moriarty had trained snipers tracking you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. If I didn't make them believe that I had died, they would have shot all three of you."

"You could have told me!" John stated, his anger rising once more.

"I couldn't risk losing you," Sherlock argued, "After I faked my death, I knew I had to take down every one of Moriarty's men. If at any point they knew I was alive, they would have come after you and killed you."

It was at the point where John's anger peaked. "You still could have trusted me!" John yelled and stood up. "I was the one that believed in you when everyone else didn't!"

"John, I-"

"Sherlock, just don't!" And with that, John left to go to his room. He did not talk to Sherlock for the rest of the night. The next morning, John went downstairs for breakfast. He meant to ignore Sherlock, who was asleep at the table, but couldn't help but notice yet again how thin he had become. In the end he decided to make breakfast and tea for Sherlock as well. Once John finished preparing breakfast he went to Sherlock and tried to wake him. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John quizzically. "If you ever want me to speak to you again, you are going to eat breakfast" John said placing the plate in front of Sherlock. He began eating the breakfast that John had prepared for him. "I know what you did was because you wanted to protect Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and myself," John began when Sherlock finished his breakfast, "but if you ever pull that again, I will hunt you down and kill you myself. Do you understand?" Sherlock began to object, but John interrupted him, "I said do you understand?!"

Sherlock shook his head and answered, "Yes, I understand."

"Good," John said, "Now, I have noticed your condition," Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's concern, "and I believe I should try and rehabilitate you before you try and do anymore cases."

Sherlock sneered at John's proposition. "I don't need any of your help" Sherlock spat.

"If you don't allow me to help you, I will lock you in this flat and never let you have a case again." John retorted.

Sherlock scoffed at John's threat, but then saw the seriousness in his face. "Fine," Sherlock sighed in defeat, "but I'm only accepting your help for the cases." John smiled minutely. Somehow he doubted that.

0-0-0-0-0-0

While taking care of Sherlock, John discovered that he had sustained more damage than he thought. Sherlock had more scars on his abdomen, his left wrist was sprained, and he had twisted his right ankle, leaving Sherlock to hobble a little whenever he walked. John made Sherlock rest in his bed for a while, causing Sherlock to sleep up to twelve hours a day for almost a week. Finally, after two months of Sherlock complaining about being bored, John dubbed him to be good enough to help with cases again. Plus with some additional help from Mycroft, which Sherlock thought was unnecessary, Sherlock's name was finally cleared.

The first case Sherlock was allowed to assist with was that of a teenage girl found shot dead in an alley. It was believed at first to be a mugging, but nothing was stolen off of the girl, so it was ruled out. Sherlock thought the case was almost too easy. Thanks to Sherlock, it was found out that the girl had run away from home to be with her boyfriend. When the girl met up with her boyfriend, the girl began to have second thoughts about leaving her family, causing an argument to occur between the girl and her boyfriend. The boy then threatened her that if she left him, he would kill her. The girl thought the boy was bluffing, so she tried to go home. The boy then began to fight the girl, shot her with his father's gun, and then fled the scene.

Sherlock's deductions lead him to track down the boy to a rundown flat. What Sherlock didn't realize was that the boy had a protective older brother that was not willing to give up his younger brother without a fight. When Sherlock and John entered the flat everything seemed eerily quiet. Upon approaching a door to another room, John heard something behind him.

"Hello there," a dark voice said, causing John to turn around to see the older brother putting Sherlock into a hold while pushing a knife to his throat. The man was bulky with hands that were almost larger than Sherlock's head. John pulled out his gun, but before he could shoot, he felt a gun at the back of his head. The younger brother had come out of another room and held his gun at John. "I suggest you put down your gun, or this may become a bit messy," the older brother instructed, bringing the blade closer to Sherlock's throat. John could now see a bit of blood, so he dropped his gun. "Thank you. Now, don't think I don't know who you are. I've read you blog before. I bet you were ecstatic when you found out your little friend here was alive. Well, soon enough you'll be the exact opposite." The older brother chuckled. John's growing anger apparent on his face. "You two will be dead before you even have a chance to take my brother away from me," the older brother stated, but before he could dig his knife any deeper into the detective's throat, Sherlock's elbow collided harshly with the older brother's stomach, causing the older brother to bend over in pain and allow Sherlock to punch him in the nose.

This distracted the little brother enough for John to pick up his gun and shoot the younger brother in the shoulder. When Sherlock heard the gunshot, he turned to see if John was okay, allowing the older brother to grab Sherlock's head and smash it into the nearest wall. The older brother then held Sherlock against the wall to still his movement trying to strike Sherlock in the face with the knife. As he brought the knife back to stab Sherlock, the older brother collapsed onto the floor with pain. John had shot him in the knee. Sherlock gasped out of surprise and then pain as he turned his head to John.

"Are you okay?" John asked, concern in his voice.

Sherlock nodded his head. "Yes, I think I will be alright," he answered John. John got his phone and called Lestrade to inform him of what had happened while he kept an eye on the younger brother who was sprawled on the floor unconscious.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The two brothers were sent to the hospital and put under custody. Sherlock was looked over and was deemed suitable to go home, even though he had a noticeable cut on his throat and some bruising on his face. Sherlock and John sat in a cab filled with silence unknown since Sherlock's return. Even though every time John glanced at Sherlock and thought he was fine, he had no idea of the thoughts running through the young detective's head. The prolonged silence in the cab made the ride seem like eternity until they finally reached their flat. Sherlock got out of the cab as quickly as possible, leaving John to pay.

When John entered their flat, Sherlock was already slouched onto the couch. "Well," John started, "that case took a different turn than expected."

"How are you not mad at me?" Sherlock asked, still slouching on the couch.

"What?"

"Of course you make me repeat myself. How are you not mad at me?" Sherlock sat up and looked at John. "I was the one who decided we should go storming in there ourselves. We could have both died in there."

John sighed. "First, why would you care when we both have risked our lives before? Second, I trusted you that we would both make it out of there. And third, I've seen you do worse."

Sherlock grunted in frustration. "I don't get it! If you're not upset about me risking our lives, than why am I?" John was now confused. "When I was on top of St Bart's and I found out there was a sniper tracking you, I felt this sort of terror that I had never felt before. I did not want to lose you. Today, when you were fighting that boy and I heard the gun go off, I felt that terror arise again." John now sat next to Sherlock as he continued talking. "Another thing I felt today was when you shot the man that was about to stab me, I felt this heat inside me, this glowing sensation. I first felt it when you shot the cabbie and I felt it whenever you were with me. I had never felt this before I met you and not once when I was taking down Moriarty's men. I don' know what this is and it confuses me." Sherlock put his face in his hands and sighed.

John looked at Sherlock and thought about his predicament. He then put his hand on Sherlock's cheek and moved his head so he could look at him face to face. "I think that what you are feeling is affection," John told Sherlock placing his lips against the other's, giving him a chaste kiss. As John pulled back, he noticed the shocked expression on Sherlock's face, but before he could say his apologies or come up with an excuse of why he kissed him, Sherlock put his hand on the back of John's neck so he bring John's lips to his, returning the kiss.

There sat John and Sherlock on the sofa, peppering each other with kisses, gradually making their kisses deeper and more passionate as the moments went by. It was finally Sherlock who broke away, gasping for air. He then smiled at John remarking, "I thought you weren't gay."

John smiled back and retorted, "I thought you were the sociopath who was married to his work." At that, Sherlock chuckled. "And besides, I'm not gay, I just like you and only you." John then rested his forehead on Sherlock's. "Don't you ever leave me again."

Sherlock then kissed John once more and whispered, "I promise." Then there, on the couch, was where the young detective and his army doctor fell asleep in each other's arms.

0-0-0-0-0-0

_The end_


End file.
